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Nagy/A Helping Character
Nagy started to yell again. “You can not seriously mean I'm going to wear this?!” I keep silent, knowing there will be more. “Why can’t you draw me in something trendy? Something cool? Something that stands out!” The little figure walks in a little pattern over my desk: around the first teacup, behind the box with coloured pencils, between the keyboard and the computer screen, around the second teacup and back again. I know I should love her. After all, I created her, but sometimes she's just so annoying. How could I manage to create someone so different from me? Maybe I should explain. Nagy is a 1-inch high manifestation of... my muse? Okay, so I have no idea what she is or how she can exist, but she showed up after I drew her so I suppose she is my responsibility. Besides, regardless of her origins she likes to pose, which is really a plus when I make new drawings. The problem is her tendency to back-seat driving. I want to draw her in clothes that I like to wear myself, which is restricted to jeans, t-shirts and hooded sweatshirts. Apparently, my little creation hates them something fierce. She wants her clothes cute or modern, with disturbing tendencies towards pink: the in my opinion most horrible colour ever. Besides, she keeps talking about boys. Granted, as a bisexual teenager I can agree with a great deal of her points, but to stand around swooning over a photo in a magazine seems dull. I look at the sketch I'm working on. It's the base for a drawing where Nagy is trying to charm some guy. I had thought it was okay (and in character), but that was before Nagy gave her opinion clear. Just then she stopped walking and grabbed a spare pen. “Look, you can do patterns here, fix up the jacket here and adjust the top here,” she looked over the changes “and then make my breasts larger.” There was no way I could not laugh at the oversized chest she had endowed her sketch with, and then I erased them and re-drew the smaller breasts. But I kept the other changes she had done. It really did look better now. “Isn't this cheating?” Nagy sent me a glare. “Of course not! All artists sooner or later get a character of inspiration and when you start to listen to this character – to me – then that's when you start to get real.” “But why can't my character of inspiration be, well, someone other than you?” That didn't sound quite so offensive before I said it out loud. “Because you drew me.” I suppose this makes me a lousy teenage parent. I didn't have to ask what she meant by “real”. Everyone can draw some doodles. Some people genuinely like to draw, we are artists (if you use the word liberally). When an artist is getting the grip of their technique and challenges themselves, he or she is real. Being real doesn't necessarily mean to be famous, or even conventionally talented, but I get the feeling that Nagy would like to be famous, so I'll just have to work on getting us there. “All right, enough dawdling around newbie – ink time!” “I've been drawing for four years and have my own personal muse character thing; I can't seriously still be a newbie.” “You are, and will be so until I say otherwise. Now try to keep a steady hand this time!” ~~ My days with Nagy went on. On her advice I kept Nagy as a secret from Sandra, my girlfriend. According to my miniature model Sandra probably hadn't discovered her inspiring character yet. I thought that smelled suspiciously like faeces, since Sandra probably was more dedicated to art than me, and privately mused that her character of inspiration probably was just less obnoxious. ~~ I'm drawing more pictures than before, but it kind of affects school – and my sleeping. I try to do some homework every night to keep up, but Nagy keeps nagging (she is surprisingly aptly named) until I start to draw, then she doesn't allow me to stop until I'm done with it. Nagy sleeps in an old shoe box hidden beneath my bed. Nobody would ever look there. When I'm sleeping over with Sandra she doesn't follow, I refuse to speculate whether this is to give us privacy, avoid our raging girl-love (I should know, but I have no idea what her opinion of homosexuality is) or if she simply knows that I won't be very productive art-wise those nights. ~~ Then one day something surprisingly expected happened. I was at Sandra's house, alone in her room while she was in the shower for reasons entirely unrelated to what we were doing a few minutes earlier. Then I heard a muffled sneeze. I could still hear the water go in the bathroom so it couldn't possibly be my girlfriend. As silently as I could I sneaked up on the closet, praying to high heavens that it would contain a cat and not Sandra's little sister. In the blink of an eye I had the closet door wide open and was looking through all the clothes that were piled up. There! I closed my hand around an inch-sized figure! “GOTCHA!” I shouted and victoriously held up- “Riukada?” Yes, it was Riukada, one of Sandra's characters. Nagy had been wrong. Right then I wished that she had followed me out this time, because I really had to rub this in her face. Not only had she missed Sandra's mini-muse, she had missed a guy. Hold on. A guy. In the closet. While me and Sandra had... “Ergh... can you let me down please?” ~~ After Sandra came back we talked about this phenomena with characters suddenly coming alive, and it turned out that Sandra also had been advised to keep silence. The next day both Sandra and Riukada followed me home and we spent a rather productive evening prodding our models into various poses. Nagy flirted shamelessly with Riukada, but her obsession over males was a lot less annoying now that I could joke about it with my girlfriend.